


Driving Miss Griffin

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Downton AU, F/M, Fluff, I couldn't stop myself, POV Multiple, Period Piece, Romance, War, just so much fluff honestly, some drama, upstairs/downstairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young boy living and working downstairs in the big house, Bellamy never expected to become friends with the girl from upstairs, but that's exactly what happens. Although he and Clarke grow up on seemingly separate paths - he becomes the driver, and she's the proper daughter - each struggles to overcome societal expectations and challenges to find their way back to each other.</p><p>---AU partially inspired by Downton Abbey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driving Miss Griffin

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this idea popped into my head a long while back and just wouldn't let go. Pretty nervous about it tbh, but I think I'm finally at peace with it XD some parts might sound familiar if you've watched Downton Abbey, but as usual everything has a Bellarke twist. mostly Bellamy's POV, but a couple times I switch to Clarke.  
> Anyways, hope you enjoy! Feedback is appreciated :)

Clarke is thrilled when her mom goes to the fancy dinner party with her new friend Mr. Kane - it means one night where she's saved from dressing up and having to smile at strangers. So she patiently lets herself be tucked into bed, whispering good night and staying put until she hears the familiar _click clack_ of her mother's heels down the stairs and out the door.

Then she sneaks into her mom’s jewelry box and slips downstairs wearing an expensive-looking tiara atop her blonde curls. The only reason she chose it was because it sparkled with gemstones in the shade of her favorite bright blue. She’s rarely allowed downstairs without some kind of supervision, but it’s late and for once she’s able to explore to her heart’s content. 

Skidding around corner after corner, she’s too off-balance to control her movements when she crashes into a dark-haired boy just a little taller than her. His eyes widen at the sight of her. “Princess?” He asks.

She pouts stubbornly. “My name is Clarke.”

“Princess Clarke?” He asks uncertainly.

“No. Just Clarke,” she insists, stomping her foot.

A small smile creeps across his face. She decides she likes him much better when he’s smiling, until he says, “I think I like princess better.”

~~~~~~

Bellamy keeps calling her princess because he can tell she likes having a nickname, even if that’s not the one she would have chosen. It makes him sad to think nobody ever gave her one until now. She’s the daughter from upstairs, he knows that as soon as he sees the tiara on her head, but somehow the thought doesn’t make him bitter like it usually does.

It might be the bright smile on her face, or the way she tugs his hand and asks him to tell her more stories, or how when she meets his sister weeks later, she drags her out to play as if they’ve been best friends for years.

It’s the first time since their mom died that Octavia has laughed so loudly the entire house can hear it, and it’s all thanks to the girl from upstairs.

Clarke has no idea, of course, so when she one day asks, “Where’s your mom,” he has to stop and unstick his throat where it’s become glued together by tears. It takes her only seconds to realize he’s upset, and she doesn’t ask him again, just sits with him.

After a few minutes, he says softly, “She’s gone now.”

Clarke understands at once. Surprising him, she says, “Maybe she’s with my dad,” and pulls Bellamy’s head to her shoulder. He tries to resist, only out of courtesy, but she’s as stubborn as he is, apparently, so giving in is easy. When he sighs softly and stops moving, they sit there on the back steps like that long into the afternoon, his messy hair tickling her chin and her breath on his ear, until Clarke’s name is called and she runs back upstairs.

~~~~~~

It’s moments like that that Bellamy can’t get out of his head even as he’s doing simple things like getting dressed in the mornings. Moments that became few and far between, and eventually stopped altogether over the next few years.

He was naive to think that she would be any different than the others. But some days, his childhood self wants to cling to the memory just a minute longer, so he does, pretending she’ll be waiting for him at the bottom of the steps like she used to, a gleeful smile on her face and mischief in her eyes.

But Clarke Griffin is a lady now, and ladies don’t talk to kitchen boys. So he works hard with Miss Stella, the sweet, portly cook who watches over him and Octavia almost like a second mother. He learns the rules of the house under her patient tutelage, gradually rotating from the kitchen help to one of the house servants.

He pretends not to notice Clarke while he’s running around, though it’s nearly impossible to stop himself from thinking about the loneliness that seems to shroud her everywhere she goes. She’s caged, he thinks one day, watching her sit among the ladies and barely touch her food while her eyes stare longingly out the window.

Bellamy pointedly ignores the fact that he maybe begins to steep Clarke’s favorite tea on those days. He also ignores how he watches for her reaction - how her eyes light up and her gaze flickers to him in surprise, because he’s the only person she ever told that this was also her father’s favorite tea, and it reminds her of him. 

Now and then he’ll leave a cup of it next to the pile of books in the library where she’s fallen asleep, carefully misdirecting any who come looking to prolong her few moments of peace.

What’s worse is that he understands what’s expected of her. After all, even his sister is a lady, albeit a poor one. Octavia had taken Clarke’s absence hard at first, though as she grew up she also seemed to come to the conclusion that this is just how things are. But more than once he’s seen blonde hair slipping out of sight right as he’s heading to his sister’s quarters to check on her before lights out, and though the questions gnaw at him, his pride refuses to let him ask. 

It hurts even more to think that somewhere deep down, Clarke might still care, too. 

~~~~~~

When he’s promoted to valet at the age of twenty, Bellamy takes the job seriously. After his sister’s dalliance and subsequent elopement with a suitor originally intended for Clarke, it was all he could do to stay at the house and keep earning a living. Part of him had wanted to leave, but Octavia wouldn’t hear of it. And neither would Miss Stella, who’d had a soft spot for him since he was young. 

So he stays, gritting his teeth and working himself to the bone until he’s offered the spot of valet.

What he doesn’t expect is that he won’t be driving Mrs. Griffin, but her daughter. Clarke’s eyes widen the first time she sees him in his stiff jacket, standing by the vehicle. He doesn’t see the way her lips fight to smile because he’s too busy schooling his features and opening the door in a practiced motion, unwilling to let just the sight of her unravel him.

He does, however, begin calling her _princess_ again, though her eyes narrow when it comes out sounding more like judgment instead of a fond nickname.

Their drives are quiet and uneventful at first. She doesn’t try to force a conversation - something he’s always admired and been grateful for. He takes her on errands, mostly. She has a lot of errands. To the market, to the post office, to the bank - when he can’t help but ask why she insists on doing all of it, she simply shrugs and says, “I like to feel useful.”

There’s a hint of envy in her eyes as she watches others work, but she says nothing, and so neither does he.

Thursdays are her favorite. He just knows it by the way she comes bouncing outside the house, nearly skipping down the steps and into the car with a cheery “good morning.” This is the day she visits the children’s hospital they built not too long ago right in the center of town. They stop at the market and he walks alongside her while she thoughtfully picks out small gifts and sweet treats, and then they head to the hospital. Clarke is beloved there, a small cheer going through the kids as they see her walk in the door. It makes Bellamy smile to see her practically float from bed to bed, offering hugs and words of comfort. 

But after they leave, her mouth draws in a thin line and her eyes are shadowed, and he finds himself wondering why she’s so sad. Before he can stop them, the words fly out.

“What’s wrong?”

Clarke’s head snaps up from where it was drooping against the window. Her eyes find his in the rearview mirror. After a moment of chewing her bottom lip, she sighs. “I just feel so useless all the time. What good are tea parties and fancy dinners when there are others who need help?”

“You do help them,” he finds himself saying. “They adore you. You bring them hope.”

She stares for a few seconds before shaking off her surprise. “Maybe. But I should be able to do more than give food once a week. I should be…” She trails off in a fit, thunking her head against the window once more, and Bellamy lets her sink back into her tangled thoughts, trying to ignore how he remembers her once telling him during a late-night conversation, hidden in the shadows of the kitchen, that she wanted to do more than be a lady.

~~~~~~

It’s only been two weeks since Clarke met Finn Collins, but Bellamy already can’t stand the guy. Something about him just isn’t right. He tells himself repeatedly that it’s not his place to judge, or _care_ , for that matter, so he grits his teeth and just deals with it. At least Clarke seems happy.

But then he overhears Collins’ valet boasting about the latest of many trips they’ve been taking to see a woman who is definitively _not_ Clarke, and a wave of anger overcomes him. It’s Annie, as Clarke’s maid, who ultimately decides she needs to know the truth.

~~~~~~

Clarke feels a rush of shame and embarrassment as soon as the words are out of her friend’s mouth (yes, she does consider Annie a friend, contrary to popular belief). Her throat tightens and tears blur her vision, but she only stammers out a thank-you and asks her for a moment alone. Ever understanding, the other girl agrees and eases out the door without another word. 

_Of course_ this would happen, of course the one time she decided to forget about the boy downstairs and try to do what was expected of her, she’d get bitten for her troubles.

She rakes her hands through her hair and stands in the room for several minutes, a hand clamped firmly to her mouth. She _will not_ cry here, in this stupid room that may as well be a cell for all it’s done for her. Suddenly, she feels suffocated by the decorative walls. Needing an escape, she goes to the only place she can think of that might not have prying eyes or ears.

The garage is quiet when she enters, though not as dark as she expected. Clarke figures out why when she sees a single lantern set on the floor, next to where a large body is stretched out over a heap of blankets.

His name flies from her mouth before she can help it. “Bellamy?”

He startles awake at once, drowsy and confused as he squints across the room. For a second, he looks like the boy whose shoulder she used to fall asleep on. She misses him. _Badly._

“Princess?” He asks it hesitantly, like it might be a dream. The nickname, uttered sleepily, almost sounds nice again.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice rattles dangerously and she clenches her hands into fists. “Why are you sleeping here?”

“Didn’t realize I had to report my whereabouts.”

“Bellamy…” Something on her face must warn him and he eases up a little. 

“I was tinkering around. Needed to relax. Didn’t realize how late it was until I was done, and by then I didn’t want to wake up anyone else, so…” He trails off.

“Oh. Okay.” 

Bellamy reaches for the lantern and holds it up, studying her face. His eyes flicker in understanding, and she knows that he’s already heard. To his credit, he doesn’t say a word about it. Despite everything, he still knows her too well to offer empty consolation. She can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

Clarke stands there uncertainly until he shifts on the blankets. It’s the barest of movements, but one that creates a little room beside him. He’s looking back at her just as tentatively, as if not sure he’s made the right choice. So she crosses the garage without a second thought and sits down, letting out a long, trembling sigh. 

It’s only when he blows out the light from the lantern, instantly cloaking them in darkness, that she lets herself cry - not just for her stupidity with Finn, but for the little girl who used to play downstairs and the boy she’s still in love with. Bellamy doesn’t say a thing, simply sitting by her through the whole mess until she’s drained. And when Clarke wakes up in the morning with her head pillowed on his shoulder, she lets herself stay there a little longer, basking in the only thing that’s ever felt right.

~~~~~~

Two days later, Clarke finds him in the garage again. Bellamy turns to see her striding towards him with a determined look on her face, and he knows that whatever she wants she’ll likely get.

Stopping just short of crashing into him, she says, “I need you to take me somewhere, but if anyone asks, we’re going to the market. Will you do that for me?”

He finds himself nodding almost immediately, too caught up by the misery in her eyes - and the fact that she’s trusting him with a secret. Clarke opens her mouth again, expecting to have to argue, but then seems to realize that he’s already agreed and closes it without a word.

“You do realize you’ll have to tell me where we’re actually going,” he says when they’ve stood there for nearly two full minutes in silence.

She takes a deep breath and unfolds the paper she’s been clutching tightly, handing it over to him. Bellamy raises a single eyebrow when he sees the name atop the address, but Clarke only folds her arms defensively. 

“When do we leave?” He asks, and her posture relaxes, a grateful look on her face.

It’s the longest ride of his life. All Bellamy can do is waver between watching the road and the rear mirror, trying to gauge Clarke’s emotions where she sits quietly in the backseat. When he finally pulls up to the house, he hops out and opens the door to let her out.

The question slips from his mouth before he can snatch it back. “Would you like me to come with you?”

Clarke looks up in surprise, and then her blue eyes soften as a hint of a smile overtakes her face. “Thank you, but no. I think I need to do this alone.” When he nods, she touches his arm briefly. “It’s kind of you to offer.”

Then she’s walking up the steps of the house, ringing the doorbell, and Bellamy watches as one Raven Reyes lets her inside.

~~~~~~

It’s nearly an hour later when she emerges, and it’s all he can do not to spring off the edge of the car where he was leaning. He’s worried, and for good reason. If anyone finds out she went inside that house without an escort and something happened, it’s his ass on the line. That’s why he’s worried, he tells himself. 

Not because his heart was twisting wildly at the thought of something having happened to his princess. Not at all.

To his surprise, the two women embrace before Clarke heads for the car. As he opens the door, he notes her puffy red eyes and the downturn of her mouth, and swears to himself if he ever finds Finn Collins alone… well, it won’t end well for Collins. Bellamy gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car, trying not to keep eyeing the rearview mirror. 

He’s about to hit the gas when Clarke says his name. Instead of checking the mirror, he shifts to look at her. 

“Can we just drive for a little while? Anywhere," she requests. "I’ll think of an explanation for my mom on the way back.”

“Of course,” he says, and if his voice is a little softer than usual he’s going to chalk that up to… ah, hell. 

He takes them down the main road for a while, but instead of turning towards the exit that will take her home, he takes another turn that leads through a wide meadow, full of long, tall stalks of grass that wave dreamily in the wind. Clarke doesn’t speak, but sinks down in the seat until just her forehead touches the window, and though her eyes close he doesn’t miss the occasional tear that rolls down over her cheeks. 

Impulsively, Bellamy takes the next turn he sees, leading them down a path that’s as familiar to him as the back of his hand. When the gravel begins to crunch heavily underneath, she sits up. He slows the car to a full stop. Turning, he sees her looking around curiously.

“There’s a small lake further down, but I don’t want to risk the car that far," he explains. "Mind a small walk?”

She gives him a tiny smile and shakes her head. This time she doesn’t let him help her out of the car, hopping out before he’s even managed to get his own door open. They continue silently down the narrow path until they hit the lake, and then the breath leaves her in a soft whoosh. Aside from the breeze whispering among the tree boughs, everything is quiet, the roar of the world fading behind them. 

“How’d you find out about this place?” She asks after a minute.

“My mom used to bring me and my sister here a lot when we were little,” he says fondly, smiling at the thought. “Usually on her days off, if the weather was nice, we’d come down here and just play the whole day.”

“That sounds nice. How is Octavia?”

He glances at her sidelong. “Surprised you still remember her name.”

“Of course I do!” She snaps suddenly, like she was just waiting for something to set her off. Anger flashes through her eyes and her cheeks color. “She was one of my friends. I never forgot her. I never forgot _you._ ”

His mouth tightens into a line. “You had a funny way of showing that, princess.”

Clarke stomps her foot, so childlike in her frustration that he almost wants to laugh. She reaches out like she wants to shake him, but doesn’t, instead raking her fingers through her hair. “You’re an idiot,” she seethes. “I _had_ to leave you alone, or they were going to fire you.”

Bellamy’s world comes to a stop. He blinks, once, twice, and opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. She’s standing in front of him with that passionate, stubborn gaze, hands on her hips as she waits for him to process the words. He can’t. 

“What?” He finally manages to croak.

She sighs, and her anger deflates like air rushing from a balloon. Now she’s just sad when she looks up, and he knows she’s been keeping this secret for too long. “It was fine when we were little, because everyone thought we’d get over it." He thinks he hears her mutter "idiots" under her breath. "But then I started falling asleep next to you downstairs, and Miss Stella would wake me up every morning and rush me back to my room before mom came in…and then…” Clarke presses a hand to her temple. “You remember the old head butler?”

“Dalton. He was an old stick in the mud.”

She laughs bitterly. “Yes. Well, he saw me leaving one day. Sat me down later and said if we couldn’t behave ourselves, if we couldn’t _remember our places,_ ” she spits, “then they’d find other employment for you and O. I couldn’t let that happen. You… we… Damnit, Bell, you were my _friend!_ ”

Her voice cracks on the last word and she stomps her foot again, and Bellamy just stands there, dazed and speechless as his whole world suddenly comes into brand-new focus, with Clarke at the center of it all. It hadn’t occurred to him until just now how much he missed hearing his nickname tumble from her lips.

“That’s why you stopped coming downstairs?” He asks eventually, and it’s the dumbest thing he could say because she _just told him that_ , but she nods anyways, like she knows he needs to hear it confirmed. “Jesus,” he breathes. “I can’t believe, all this time I thought…”

“That I didn’t care. I know,” Clarke kicks bitterly at the ground and shakes her head. “Guess I did a good job of pretending I didn’t. Half the time I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“But you did care. You do,” he says suddenly, and her chin snaps up at the ferocity of his tone. He’s just come to a realization about something that’s been bothering him for a long time. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Bellamy asks, stepping closer. “You’re the one who got Octavia that job at the Grantham’s after the whole fiasco with Lincoln. The recommendation from Miss Griffin… that was _you._ ”

Clarke gazes up at him, blue eyes steady. “You’ve been taking care of my family for so long, I thought it was only fair that I return the favor at least once.”

His throat tightens. Bellamy wants to laugh and cry and scream; he wants to sweep her up and take her far away. But he does none of those things, instead just sitting down with a thud and staring out at the lake. A moment later, Clarke settles next to him, much more gracefully, but close enough that when the wind picks up, her hair flies into his face. 

“We’re quite the pair of fools, aren’t we, princess,” he murmurs later.

The sound she makes is a cross between a sob and a laugh, but she offers a watery smile. “Yeah. We are.”

They sit there for a long time, lost in their own thoughts. When the light begins to fade, Bellamy stands and helps her up and they turn back to the car. As usual, she takes his offered hand to climb into the seat, but unexpectedly holds onto his fingers when he’s about to pull away.

“Bellamy,” she says quietly, “I don’t want to be a fool anymore.”

He looks into her eyes, sees the quiet strength that he always knew was there. And smiles, squeezing her hand back. “Me neither.” 

~~~~~~

Things are easier after that. There’s a lightness to his movements that wasn’t there before, to the point that even Miss Stella stops to ask him if everything’s alright. _Everything’s fine,_ he replies, kissing her cheek. And it’s true.

When he sees Clarke step outside, the smile in her eyes is so obvious he wonders that he didn’t catch it before. They settle into their roles easily, because it’s all a game again, just like when they were little. Play the part just a little longer, a little better than the rest. She’s always finding excuses to go for a drive now, to the point that he worries if her mom will suspect, but she just waves off his dismissal. “She’s too busy worrying I’ll be jilted again. Or pretending not to be courted herself,” she replies dryly.

Bellamy remembers that she loves music, her and his sister always flailing around to the tune of his mom’s small music box, so he turns on the radio one day. Of course it’s on a political news station, and he’s about to change it when he catches sight of her in the mirror.

Her eyes light up at the news filtering in and she unconsciously leans forward, so he turns the volume up. His eyes waver between the road and the mirror so he can watch her expression, lips parted as she takes in the news almost hungrily. It’s not long before she catches him and flushes, but raises a defensive eyebrow all the same. 

“What? I have opinions.”

“Oh I bet you do, princess. Do tell.”

It’s not long before they’re arguing. “The people should have a say in the things that affect them,” he says. “It’s not fair that a select group gets to make decisions for the masses when they’ve never experienced anything real for themselves.”

“It’s not so easy as that,” Clarke counters. “There have to be rules, or you’d just have anarchy. It would be total chaos.”

He rolls his eyes; of course she thinks that. “And who sets those rules?” He asks. “The people who sit at their fancy tables all day and don’t have to lift a finger otherwise?” Bellamy knows he should bite his tongue, but the words slip out anyways. For a moment he thinks she’ll order him to apologize. But then her eyes flash and she surprises him again.

“I agree that the politicians are useless. Nothing they say sounds remotely relatable, and honestly I fall asleep listening to most of them. Except for Daniel Rollins. Have you ever heard him speak?” she sighs wistfully. “Now him, I could be persuaded to support.”

Yet again, she’s managed to subvert his expectations. Bellamy _has_ heard Rollins speak, from afar. It was totally worth climbing the roof of the opposite building to get the view. In his mind, the man’s nothing short of a revolutionary. He finds himself telling her just that, urged on by the way Clarke leans forward, hanging onto his every word with wide eyes. 

“God, that’s amazing," she sighs afterwards. "I would give anything to be at one of those rallies.” Her mouth tilts up slyly. “You know, there’s one over in Bryton in two weeks.”

Bellamy catches her eyes in the mirror. “I know,” is all he says.

He finds himself more than a little proud that she’s still so intelligent and passionate as he remembers. After all these years, society’s tried to fit her into its mold only to have her create her own identity right beneath their noses. 

Clarke sees the look on his face and reads him like book. “What?” She challenges.

“Nothing, just…” Bellamy allows a smirk to curl his mouth, “I’m glad to see there’s more than empty air floating around in that brain of yours.”

Her mouth parts in a silent _o_ , then she arches a single delicate eyebrow and says primly, “I was going to say the same of you.”

The laugh escapes him in a quick breath, and damn it feels so good to laugh with her again. When he glances in the mirror, he sees the slight upwards pull of her lips on the same side as that lovely birthmark, and he knows she’s having as much fun as he is.

His princess is back, and for a moment, he feels lighter than air.

~~~~~~~

Bellamy’s cursing himself for giving into her when they end up at the rally two weeks later. Clarke is brimming with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she peers over the crowd, while all he can do is look around and pray that the dissenting murmurs around him won’t turn into something more.

They make it almost the whole way through the speech before someone throws something at the podium. Then all hell breaks loose, and Bellamy has a hold of Clarke’s arm and he’s dragging her backwards before she can even think to do anything stupid. As the throng of bodies begins to close on them, people - men - beginning to argue and throw punches just for the hell of it, Bellamy pushes her behind him. And just in time, too, as he takes a blow to the head that has him seeing stars. He vaguely hears Clarke cry out, but she’s unhurt when he whirls around, her eyes solely focused on him. 

Then someone yanks on her arm, but before Bellamy can move she’s delivered a swift boot to the stranger’s nether regions and pulled out a knife - _Jesus, where was she hiding that?_ \- and now she’s the one tugging him along until he regains his senses and they run to the car.

Bellamy has them on the road within seconds, his foot on the accelerator until Clarke grabs his shoulders from the backseat.

“Stop it, we’re far enough. _Bell,_ ” she says with a small shake, and he finally eases up. His knuckles are turning white where he grips the steering wheel. “Pull off the road,” Clarke says, but he ignores her. Her fingers dig into his jacket as her voice turns flinty. “ _Bellamy Blake._ Pull off the damn road right now.”

He thinks about resisting only for a second before doing as she says, turning off onto a barely-there path into a secluded grove of trees. He leans back with a harsh sigh. Clarke’s hands leave his shoulders, but only because she’s hopping out of the backseat to climb in beside him. Then her fingers are back on his skull, probing at the tender skin as she hovers worriedly.

At his low groan, she stills. Then she smacks his shoulder. Hard.

“Ow! What the-”

She does it again, fingers curled into a tiny fist that has a surprising amount of force. “Are you crazy?” She’s yelling suddenly. “You could have a concussion.” _Punch._ “You could be bleeding internally!” _Punch._ “You could have-”

Her voice cracks, and this time Bellamy catches her hand before it can hit his shoulder. It’s barely a struggle to wrap his large hands around hers, holding them to his chest without a thought. Bellamy gets a proper look at her face, her eyes bright with worry.

“I’m fine, Clarke,” he says softly. When she scoffs, he tugs on their joined hands. “I mean it. I’m okay. I’ll probably have a hell of a headache soon, but that’s it. I promise I’ve had worse.”

Clarke sniffs, pressing her mouth into a thin line, but doesn’t let go.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently.

“Fine,” she mumbles. “Thanks to you.”

“I think it’s the opposite,” he says, and smiles, because _of course it is._ “Where in the world did you get a knife?”

She shrugs. “It wasn’t too hard. Mr. Kane doesn’t keep any eye on his things as well as he should.”

He shakes his head in awe. “Brave princess,” he whispers. A corner of her mouth lifts shyly. He reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It’s an unconscious gesture, one he usually tamps down on quickly, but, well, he’s a little woozy and she’s so close he could trace the curve of her collarbone, so… 

Clarke leans slightly into his touch, and after a stunned moment, he lingers. When he searches her face for any hint of uncertainty, he finds none, and he thinks he might just float away. “You scared me,” she whispers.

He doesn’t answer, just holds her hand tighter, and they don’t move for a long time.

~~~~~~~

Bellamy’s making an early pass through the kitchens one morning when he hears a familiar voice. Brow knit in confusion, he peeks around the corner to see Clarke standing next to Miss Stella, who’s patiently explaining how to bake a cake. A smile curls his mouth as he watches Clarke take in the knowledge almost hungrily, her pencil flying over the page of the tiny notebook in her hands. Her hair’s pulled into a long ponytail, exposing the smooth column of her neck, and for a moment he’s completely distracted by the urge to sneak up behind her and press kisses along her skin.

Then Miss Stella turns and sees him, bellowing loudly to come join them, and when he looks at Clarke there’s a tinge of pink on her cheeks. He can’t imagine why. 

The sight lingers with him throughout the morning as she slowly mixes ingredients and nods obediently at the cook’s instructions. Bellamy finds a second to swipe batter from the bowl, dabbing Clarke’s nose once and enjoying her blush while Miss Stella’s back is turned. When he finally has to go for fear of leaving the others stranded at the market, he does so very reluctantly.

Weeks later, he’s returned to the garage one evening just to tinker with the car again when he hears hesitant footsteps approach. Clarke’s standing in the doorway, a covered tray in her hands.

“Princess,” he greets happily.

“Hi. Are you busy?”

“No, not at all.” He ushers her inside, wiping off a stool and taking the tray from her to set on the table. She’s twisting her fingers and shifting nervously when he turns around, and it’s oddly endearing. “What brings you into my humble abode?” He says it just to see her smile, knowing the roll of her eyes is not far behind.

“Ah, well, actually… just that,” she points to the tray before going back to picking at her nails. Now she’s biting her lower lip, too, and staring at her boots instead of him, and he’s madly curious about what’s going on.

Clarke finally peeks up and nods, giving him permission. With a final glance at her, he lifts the small lid to find a small chocolate cake covered in vanilla icing. His eyes fly back to the girl in front of him. 

“You still like chocolate, right?” She asks suddenly, as if worried she’s remembered it all wrong. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “it’s my favorite.”

The lines on her face relax a little. “Good. I thought so,” she says with a small nod.

“Clarke, what-”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” she interrupts hurriedly, and he’s again rendered speechless. She rushes on. “It’s your birthday, and I was going to give it to you then, but we have to go to that stupid dinner and probably won’t be back until late. Mom insists on me going, even though it’s dumb. I don’t even know why they need me there, it’s not like they expect me to talk, I’m not even supposed to have an _opinion_ -”

She’s babbling. She’s babbling, and she’s so, so nervous because _she baked him a cake for his birthday._

The realization sends him into something like a giddy high, and Bellamy’s moving before he can stop himself. His arms wrap around her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning in a slow circle, laughing warmly when she squeaks and clutches his shoulders. But she holds on tight, and when her small, relieved laugh echoes into his ear, his heart lightens.

Bellamy sets her down gently, not letting go right away. It occurs to him then what she was doing in the kitchen all those mornings ago, and the thought makes him hold her just a tad more closely. When he finally steps back, her cheeks are beautifully flushed and she’s a little in shock, but then so is he. 

“You didn’t even try it yet,” she says, a little breathlessly.

He grins, suddenly at peace with the world, and drags another stool out next to hers. They sit down and each pick up a fork. Clarke makes him take a bite first, not even pretending like she isn’t watching his reaction. The first taste of decadent chocolate hits his tongue and his eyes drift shut, a small moan leaving his mouth.

She giggles, and he looks over happily, motioning for her to dig in. They sit there for a long time, talking and eating until nothing but crumbs remain on the plate.

~~~~~~~

Not long after, he gets a message from his sister and is struck by an idea. He asks Clarke for a day when she’s free of any pressing engagements, only saying he’d like to take her somewhere, if she wouldn’t mind. Though curiosity lights her eyes, she nods and lets him know when she’s free. He figures out the details quickly with Octavia, and soon he and Clarke are on the road one morning heading to the lake.

She’s shifting eagerly in her seat and he nearly laughs at her impatience, but thinks better of it. When they get close, he stops the car and turns to her. “Princess, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”

She quirks her head to the side. “Okay?”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise before we get there, so when I say so, I need you to close your eyes, and keep them shut.” Her eyebrows lift so high it’s a wonder they don’t fly right off her head. Bellamy jumps out of the car and opens her door, holding out his hand. “Do you trust me?”

Clarke stares at him for a long moment before smiling and placing her hand in his. He helps her down and they walk down the small path until he thinks it’s far enough and asks her to close her eyes. She does so, an arm flying out uncertainly until she finds his hand again. When he squeezes her fingers, she relaxes.

They approach the lake much more slowly, Clarke’s steps careful and hesitant as he guides her along. But soon he catches sight of familiar brown hair and his sister’s wide smile, and he’s grinning too. She takes in the sight of him and Clarke in one smooth glance, an eyebrow lifting mischievously as she offers a thumbs up. He glares in mock warning.

When she’s standing right in front of them, he lets go of Clarke’s hand and taps her shoulder. “Okay. Open up.”

Her eyes spring open, widening as they find Octavia, and suddenly she’s shrieking and tackling his sister in a hug that sends them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. They’re laughing as they sit up shaking grass from their hair, and then Clarke hugs her again, more gently this time. Her eyes are wet when she looks up at Bellamy.

 _Thank you,_ she mouths.

He beams back and settles down beside them, more than happy to spend the day with his two favorite ladies.

~~~~~~~

Bellamy thinks he might burst with pride when Clarke begins training to become a nurse. Even though he won’t see her for a while, he can’t help but be thrilled with her choice. This is the princess he knows, taking charge of her own life and not sitting around letting others choose for her.

It’s him who drops her off that first day, watches her eyes flit around with anticipation as they approach the school. After helping her settle into the small dormitory, she shyly asks if he might want to stay a bit longer. He does. 

He lingers as long as possible, letting her drag him around what seems like every corner of the building and laughing at her ever-growing excitement.

When it’s finally time for him to go, Clarke walks him to the car. Her face is drawn in thought, the small crease between her eyebrows giving away how hard she’s thinking. Just as he’s searching for the right words, she makes a small noise and throws her arms around him, her face tucked into his shoulder. Bellamy stands there uselessly for several seconds before returning the embrace. His heart beats so loudly that he wonders if she can hear it. Then she says, “I’ll miss you,” and he makes damn sure she hears _that_ when he repeats it back.

~~~~~~~

When the war begins, Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to sign up. There’s no way he’s letting others go fight and leave him behind, not when everything he - they - have worked for is on the line. When Clarke finds out, she doesn’t talk to him for an entire week.

On the seventh day of silence, he finally manages to prod her into saying a few clipped words about her final month of training and where she might work, before she clams up again. 

It’s only later that she marches into the garage and starts yelling at him. At first, he’s so surprised that he just sits there as the words spill out. The only thing that registers is how her chin is trembling and that her eyes water and she’s flailing her arms about wildly like she only does when she’s really afraid of breaking.

“Clarke,” he finally stops her tirade by getting as close as he dares without touching. “If I hadn’t volunteered, I would’ve been drafted anyways. You know that.” He looks down at her, trying to be steady for them both. “You also know I have to do this. I can’t just sit around while other people’s brothers and sons and _fathers_ go fight.”

“And what about the people they’re leaving behind?” She asks angrily.

Bellamy has no answer for that. After a long few minutes where neither of them speaks, she turns on her heel and leaves without a word.

Two days later, he’s packing his bag for the train to the city the next morning. Tiredly, he looks around at the small space. His quarters are tiny by most standards, but they’re still _his_ , and try as he might to be practical, he’s going to miss even this small comfort.

When he turns, Clarke is standing in the doorway. She’s twisting her fingers together hesitantly, but he thankfully notes she doesn’t look like she’s about to yell again. “May I come in?” She asks, and Bellamy has to smile.

“You never have to ask.”

She returns his smile with a tiny one of her own and takes a step inside, and another, before closing the door behind her. Then she comes to stand in front of him, close enough that if he were to stretch out his pinky, it would find hers.

“I was going to kiss you,” she says abruptly, and his heart stops. 

She sucks in a breath, then rushes on. “I was going to come down here and kiss you until you refused to go, but then I realized that’s not fair to either of us. I know you need to do this.” Her voice shakes, and she clasps her hands behind her. “So I’m not going to do it,” she repeats. “If you want a kiss you’ll have to come back alive.”

A smile has formed on his face from the moment she started talking, only widening to the point that he’s wondering how his face hasn’t split in two.

“Simple as that, huh?” He asks.

She nods. They stand there a moment longer before she flings herself into his arms, holding him like it’s both the first and the last time all at once. He buries his face into her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her and committing every detail of the moment to memory. When Bellamy feels wetness on his neck, he brushes his hand over her hair. “Clarke-”

“Don’t,” she requests softly.

So he shuts up, content to just hold her for as long as possible. And when she eventually pulls back and switches off his small light, he stops the protest that would normally leave his mouth. Propriety be damned, if this is all he gets, he’s going to treasure it. They crawl into his small bed and back into each other’s arms, limbs entwined until the morning comes.

It’s not until he’s on the train that he reaches into his pocket and finds the small token she slipped in there. It’s a chess piece - a knight.

He’d always promised to teach her how to play as a kid, but the game was always too high up in the cabinets, far out of reach of either of their short arms. Eventually, toppling from the pile of buckets got old, and they got distracted by Octavia, who never had much patience for chess anyways.

Bellamy clutches the tiny figure to his chest until the impression is carved into his palm.

~~~~~~~

The war is long and hard. Days and nights blur into one; dirt and blood and grime become his best friends. Bellamy’s ears constantly ring with the sound of bullets that fly by and the screams of men they inevitably find. His unit travels a lot. He can’t say if he’d prefer it to anything else, because war is the same no matter where he goes. There’s always pain, always death - too much.

It is Clarke’s letters that keep him hanging onto whatever thread of humanity remains. She writes to him of anything and nothing and everything. 

A lot of it is about her work. She’s left her house behind, moved into the city to work in one of the larger hospitals that needs the help. Her mother hates the decision, of course, but it’s the last thing on her mind when she’s finally doing what she always wanted to - helping others in more way than one.

Bellamy doesn’t mind the knowing smirks of his men when another letter drops into his lap, added to the ever-growing pile. He also doesn’t pretend like he’s not dying to read each one. He is. He always is.

He writes her back, too. Answers whenever he can, filling parchment after parchment with words in his haste to give her a piece of his world. He tells her about the men in his unit - Miller, his second-in-command, who’s unfailingly loyal. Jasper, who looks too frail to be here but has somehow become one of the only survivors. He has a strong heart, he tells her. Murphy, who almost seems to relish the fighting, as if to excise whatever demons he has. And Monty, their signal caller who Bellamy swears is smarter than all of them combined.

It’s not long before they’re asking for a picture of _his girl._ Bellamy relays the message, tentatively, and nearly comes to tears when a small black and white square slips out of the next letter that reaches him. 

He keeps it in the same inner pocket as the knight, taking the little pieces of Clarke with him everywhere.

When Clarke writes to him about what else is happening in the world, he reads the news aloud, watches the others hang on to his every word. They’re all thirsty to know what kind of life awaits them when they return. (It’s not _if._ It’s when. Always when.)

The world is changing, slowly but surely. And he’s aching to be a part of it, to get back home, because wherever Clarke is will always be home to him, Bellamy knows that now. He just wishes he hadn’t realized it while he was on a battlefield.

Sometimes she just tells him about her day. _You should probably start getting used to hearing it from now on,_ she writes, and he smiles when he goes to sleep that night.

She ends every letter the same way. _Come home._

~~~~~~~

When Bellamy sets foot inside the hospital, he ignores the glances thrown his way. It’s not often that he’s in full uniform, but he had to report to his station commander to finalize his release before anything else, so now here he is.

He’s only looking for one person, and when he asks the front desk where Clarke Griffin works they direct him to the third floor.

He hasn’t told her he’s coming. It’s only been two days since he got back, properly. There was some time spent at a military hospital overseas before they finally flew him home. Octavia and her husband were waiting for him when he landed, and she made him promise to go see Clarke as soon as he was able. As if he wasn’t already planning to do so.

It takes him longer than he’d like to get up the stairs, thanks to the now familiar ache in his right leg. When he finally does reach the landing, he smiles to himself as he hears children’s voices. It figures she’d be here, of all places. He wanders down the hall, weaving slowly between all the hurried nurses and doctors and the occasional small patient. 

It’s not long before Bellamy sees her. Everything in him seems to relax, as if even his body knows it’s found its other half again. 

A nurse’s cap rests atop the blonde hair that’s currently pulled into a long ponytail, several strands having escaped to curl around her face. She’s handing a clipboard over to someone before pulling another from the waiting pile, her back to him as she leans a hip against the counter.

He doesn’t realize he’s been standing there staring until someone asks, “Are you looking for someone, sir?”

Bellamy swallows and smiles. “I just found her,” he says, and watches Clarke’s head snap up, her back stiffening. She’s frozen in place for a long moment, and if he didn’t know her better he’d wonder if she heard him or not.

But when she turns around there’s no doubt she did. She sets the clipboard back down with shaking hands, her wide eyes roaming over him like he’s stepped out of her dreams. Bellamy touches the knight in his pocket, his feet carrying him over to her in a few long strides.

He stops a hair’s breath from her, just drinking in the sight of her. There’s wonder in her gaze, and strength and compassion and _love,_ so much love that he could drown in those wide blue pools. Clarke reaches out a tentative hand, hovering just above his cheek as if she’s afraid it might pass right through him. Then her fingers touch his skin and he releases a long sigh and and takes her into his arms, hearing her relieved sob as she rises to her tiptoes and clutches him back just as tightly. 

When they break apart, her eyes are wet as she links her fingers with his and pulls him into an empty room. As soon as the door shuts she’s holding him again, this time whispering _thank you_ into his ear over and over. Then she says, “Don’t you ever leave me again.”

Bellamy laughs and cries all at once, clutching her waist and burying his nose into the crook of her neck. “As you wish, princess,” he finally replies, and her answering laugh is the best thing he’s ever heard. 

Even though they stay entwined for a long time, it’s still somehow too soon when she pulls back. Her hands slide down to his chest, fingers twisting in the collar of his jacket. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, grazing her skin until his hand splays in the nook where her neck and shoulder meet. 

“Bellamy,” she says, and his eyes drift shut because he’s pretty sure he’ll say yes to anything if he gets to hear her say his name for the rest of his life. So he’s not expecting it when her lips land on his, the touch soft and careful and far too swift.

His eyes fly open to find Clarke smiling, sweet and wonderful. Then he cups her face in both hands and swoops down, their mouths colliding fervently, and even with the saltiness of their tears it’s perfect, completely and utterly perfect. 

~~~~~~~

Bellamy taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music floating from the radio. The sunlight glints off the band on his finger, the one Clarke slid on herself just days after he returned to her. As he watches her emerge from the hospital, no longer in uniform, the matching gold band on her finger winks in the bright light.

He has to keep pinching himself to remember it’s not a dream. This time when Clarke approaches the car, she climbs into the passenger seat with a wide grin that matches his.

“Where to, Miss Griffin?” He asks cheekily.

She leans over and grabs a fistful of his coat, pulling him close until their mouths collide. For several long moments it’s all he can do to kiss her back with the same ferocity with which she’s currently attacking his lips.

When she eventually leans back, she greets his dazed expression with satisfaction.

“It’s Clarke, now and always,” she says. Her voice is soft, but it’s a pointed reminder that she punctuates with another kiss, this one gentle and quick.

“Princess Clarke?” He teases, chuckling when she blushes and hits his arm. He grabs her hand and tugs her close, covering her squeak of surprise with his mouth, because he can do that now, he can touch and kiss and love her however he damn well wants to.

When they pull apart, Bellamy smiles hard enough to make his jaw ache. “Where to, Clarke?”

She lays her head on his shoulder with a happy sigh. “Everywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it to the end of this, thank you. I really hope you liked it!


End file.
